


Hurt Me

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Angsty Anakin, BDSM, Blood, Choking, Dark Anakin Skywalker, F/M, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Needs Editing, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Stupid & Basic, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Why Did I Write This?, but I like it anyway, or just deleting, smacking, spitting, star wars smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: You love pain. You can take as much of it as anyone can give you... and now, you’ve been sent to Anakin.After breaking Padmé’s trust by harming Clovis during the Clone Wars, the same dark forces that have tortured Ani for years sense in him a new vulnerability.You are sent as an object through which he can grow his anger: A receptacle for his abuse. You encourage his pain and rage to grow in increasingly dangerous ways, and you relish it. Over a period of time, your life becomes entwined with his, but not necessarily to your benefit.Will you be the only thing Anakin Skywalker ever lets go, or will he drag you with him into the depths of his own hell?





	1. Pain

The door to the room slid open with a cool swoosh of air. You heard him walking— wet boots angrily hitting the floor as their wearer stomped inside. You were not hidden; rather, you were seated attentively on the arm of a very plain sofa. The room was very dark, however, and you knew that you could not be seen... at least not with human eyes. You’d been here for hours by now: Waiting, and listening to the rain outside.

A rustle. Then, the sound of water droplets hitting the floor as a soaking wet, cloaked figure marched over to a table not far from the door. Just sitting and breathing, you watched the tall, imposing form raise his fist, and use it to smash clear through the top of the wooden surface.

The sound of the wood suddenly giving way to fury combined in the air with a throaty, brief wail of either pain or anger— you really could not be sure. This was when you stood, and were immediately noticed in spite of the enveloping darkness. The figure’s shoulders twisted around suddenly and urgently; he raised his arm, and light swelled in the room. It was soft, but all-encompassing, and your presence was now fully revealed.

You stayed where you were and quietly studied the man you’d been sent for. A dark spectre, tall and broad... and as he whipped off his hood to confront you, you were nearly paralyzed by both his beauty and energy.

His eyes were points of rage; near-glowing, and blonde locks of damp hair stuck to his forehead, caressing the sides of his angular, handsome face. Lips which on anyone else might have looked sweet were, here, contorted into a ferocious scowl. Scars and lines from both training and turmoil lended a tortured, wisened quality to the youthful beauty you’d been promised.

He stared daggers at you for what felt like many moments and then finally, in a husky growl, “_Who are you?_ What are you doing here?”

Cautious but eager, you answered, “I was told you needed me.”

“Needed you?” He sounded offended.

“Yes,” you said, “What happened with Padmé...” A gloved hand clenched into a fist and something in the room— you didn’t know what— shattered. He said nothing, so you continued, “She’s afraid you’ll hurt her...”

He pulled his overcloak off entirely; discarded it to the floor with a wet thump. He was still broad and imposing without it, particularly for his young age... and he appeared even more threatening, now, as he stepped heavily toward you. He was clad, simply, in a dark tunic and pants, now. A leather belt snaked around his waist; gloves up his arms, and his lightsaber hung loosely at his side.

“Get out.” His words dripped heavily with disdain, but you stood your ground. You had not come here by choice, precisely, although you had acknowledged that you were perfect for this job. No matter how intimidating the chaos written on young Anakin Skywalker’s face, you knew you were not going anywhere. Not, at least, until you’d followed through with your intentions.

You stared into a confused set of blue eyes, smouldering and frenzied. “I’m here to help, Ani,” you said. “I can help you keep her safe.”

“She is safe. Leave.” Tangled blonde tendrils of hair just barely brushed his shoulders; they were the only thing on him that betrayed the slightest tremor. You watched the odd drop of water fall from his loose strands of hair; some of it went down his neck and slithered suggestively beneath the collar of his tunic.

You widened your eyes with disingenuous concern. “I don’t think she is, Anakin.” You stepped forward to close off the remaining distance between the two of you. “Why don’t you put your time apart from her to good use?”

He drew up his shoulders; suddenly seemed even taller. “What are you talking about?” He appeared ready to strike you.

“You hurt that man,” you continued coolly. “She was so scared...” You shook your head at this. “You’ve hurt many men... but you would never want to hurt her, would you?”

He grunted and turned his back to you. “I would never hurt her— _she’s mine._“ He reiterated, “Get out, now.”

Drawing in a breath, you placed a hand on his shoulder... and that was all it took. You’d clearly chosen a good time to visit. He whipped around with impossible speed, and suddenly you were tasting copper and seeing stars as the back of Anakin’s hand— the bionic one, judging by its force— met the side of your face with a sick crack.

You remained standing and staring, and then you dared to display the tiniest of smiles. This was, after all, perfect.

Suddenly another sharp smack; more stars and more blood, as he hit the other side of your face— this time, with his palm. He was quiet now, but you could tell that every part of him was willing you away. So much of this poor young man truly did not wish to be this way... but he was, and that was that.

Since he was facing you again, you put a hand on his chest and caught his eye with yours. A tiny amount of blood pooled at the corner of your lip, so you touched your fingers to it and held the stained digits out for Anakin to look at.

“Don’t you see? Look at this.” You pulled the bloody fingers away from his face and you licked them clean. “Don’t do this to her...”

For a millisecond, tangible fear spread over his face, likely at the thought of striking his beloved wife. In a newly measured voice, he asked you, “What are you suggesting I do to protect her?” He knew he was dangerous.

“I’m here for you to hurt me, Anakin.” Both of your hands now rested on his chest.

“I—” he peered down at you, disgusted and frightened... and perhaps intrigued.

“Hurt me,” you invited, as you softened your gaze. “Hurt me, so you don’t hurt her.” This you nearly purred, and you felt his breath hitch in his chest through the rough fabric of his tunic. He froze, uncertain. You continued, “Consider the consequences if we don’t pull that nasty monster out of you now and nip him in the bud, before your sweet Padmé is ready to see you again...” You smiled sadly, “...if, of course, she ever _is_ ready to see you again.”

An enormous, invisible weight bore down on you from seemingly nowhere, now, and your back was all of a sudden pressed against the farthest wall of the room. Your feet just barely touched the floor. The force of the impact had knocked the wind out of you, and you caught your breath as your now-raging young Jedi approached you. His face was dark with contempt, and as the fingers on his outstretched hand clenched in the air, you felt your throat squeeze painfully shut.

Terror of death— brief, but powerful— swept over you. Anakin must have known, because he released you then, and you dropped to the floor in a heap. You let out a groan as your body hit the cold tile.

You looked up as he approached you to loom over your crumpled form. From this angle, you could see something— a bulge, just visible under layers of tunic and legging, but undeniably present, and clearly quite needy.

You gestured upward, between his legs. “I told you, Ani... look what a wonderful time you’re already having.”

He sneered at you, then. He unclipped his weapon from his belt, then his belt from around his waist. He placed them atop the sofa on which you’d waited for him. You remained on the floor as he turned his attention to you, fumbling now with the fastener on his pants. By the time he stood directly over you, he was holding a throbbing length in his hand; veins protruding and head glistening in the room’s soft light.

“Get down on your knees,” he growled. It was not a request.

You obliged. You had recovered from his choking by now, and you were curious as t how much farther you’d have to prod him, before he would fall and shatter. You wondered: How could someone so strong be so much like a precariously-placed piece of glass?

You had barely finished that thought when your brain registered the invasive sensation of your jaw being forced open. Anakin’s cock— it seemed as formidable and angry as he did— worked its way quickly and unapologetically over your tongue, and past your back teeth. You could feel him hit the back of your throat; push. Then, he withdrew, and slammed himself back in again very roughly. He continued; went faster, and tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as he built up a violent rhythm. He shouted at you, “Is this what you want, then?! _Is this what you want me to do?!_”

You grunted a response through a mouthful of cock, but this did not satisfy him— he stopped, gripped you by your hair with his inhuman hand, and pulled you up so that you were eye-level with him. Strings of blood and spit beaded off your lips.

Through your pain, you admired him— you’d always had a knack for seeing and appreciating beauty, even dark or unsafe beauty. His beautiful eyes were washed over with an ill hatred; pain far beyond his years poured from him like sweat. You felt a warmth well up inside you; if he felt it too, it angered him— and he tightened his grip on your hair at it, willing you to answer him.

“Yes! More...!” You gasped this; continued, “I can feel your hatred and anger, Anakin... and your fear, too...” You licked a delicious mix of blood and angry Jedi off of your lips. “Just let it out— let it out on me, now, and you won’t hurt _her_ later.” You knew you were lying: He clearly enjoyed this, on some level, and indulgence would only make it habitual. But, he was young and did not need to know that yet. What he needed was for his spirit to drift away from the Light for good, and you were here to help it do that. “Hit me again, Anakin, please... do it for Padmé.”

So he did— a sharp twist of your neck, followed by brighter stars and more blood. You were again sprawled on the floor, but this time he did not wait even a second before beginning to stride over to you.

In a smooth; almost singular motion, he whipped off his tunic. You were treated to the sight of a heaving, glistening chest; broad and smooth except for a few scattered scars and old burns. Black gloves covered both of his hands; you knew the one on his right could kill you with a flick of its finger, if he wanted it to.

He stared down at you, new hatred building and bubbling behind his eyes. “If you’re telling me the truth, then so be it.”

Emphatically, you said, “I am, Ani! This is the only way for you to grow your power, and keep what you love safe.”

He must have believed you, because all at once, he was on top of you. He pounced like a wildcat, and pinned you roughly to the floor. His sinewy muscles— covered by achingly smooth, young skin— held you in place as his disconcertingly hard and strong right hand ripped at the front of your robes until your body was exposed.

He sat up on his knees, one leg on either side of you. His cock, still loose of his pants, pointed at your face as you lifted your head from the floor to peer at it. You smiled as fresh blood trailed down the side of your chin. Although you had a free hand, you didn’t dare raise it to wipe the mess away.

He looked down on you, every part of him aflame. He used his flesh hand to strike your face yet again; he repeated this action twice more before his own face contorted. He let out a noise that one might have mistaken for a sob, were he not in such a state.

He brought his face down close to yours. Still reeling from his blows, you thought he was going to try to kiss you— instead, however, he pinched your cheeks together until your mouth opened, and spat into it. Sticky saliva passed his velvety, pink lips and landed at the back of your throat, hitting the spot into which he’d been slamming his cock just minutes ago.

You swallowed, but all you could really taste was blood as Anakin got off of you. He grasped your hips brutally with his gloved hands and twisted your body over until you were lying on your stomach.

Another forceful yank to the back of your hair.

“Up... on... your... _knees_,” he huffed quietly. You obliged, and pointed your ass up at him.

He used this opportunity to smack the side of it violently with his free hand, and so you cried out— spitting a blob of bubbly blood onto the floor beneath your face.

You heard rustling behind you— he was removing his pants, finally. Through your aches, the fact that he was now so close to you, naked— save for the two leather gloves snaking up those thick arms of his— made your pussy clench and your slick folds swell.

He leaned down; mouth to your ear. In another deep growl, “I would do anything for her, and I would come within an inch of destroying you if that’s what it took to keep her safe.”

He straightened back up again; tightened his grip on your hair. You were enveloped immediately by a splitting pain as he finally thrust his throbbing cock into your tight, dripping hole.

The stretch was like fire to you, and he took very little time to begin rutting away like an animal. His breathing turned ragged, and you could feel his hips hitting you over and over as he buried himself to the hilt in your wet cunt.

He placed his entire inhuman hand on your ass cheek, gathered some of the juices from your pussy on his thumb, and thrust the unforgiving leather digit into that other, tighter hole.

You couldn’t ever remember feeling so full before in your life; you screamed at the sensation. In response, he pulled your head back wildly by his fistful of your hair, and shouted back at you, “Shut up!”

His thumb curled up into one part you as his hardness pillaged another, and you felt the pounding all through your body. You found you could not obey his order to remain silent. You continued to yell out, and he kept on ruining you— yelling the entire time for you to shut your evil mouth.

As you listened to your voices reverberate off the hard walls, you finally felt it— he tensed, groaned, and exploded, spilling himself into you with abandon. His quick, rhythmic thrusts turned to frenzied bucking as he emptied; your combined essences dripped out and around the bottom of his slowly softening shaft.

He pulled out of you and let go of your hair, nearly dropping your head on the floor. Your hips sank down to the tile and you heard him stand; you rolled painfully over to look at him.

His eyes were wide, now. His chest dripped and heaved, and his half-hard cock twitched as wet tendrils of both of you trailed off its tip; stuck to his muscular thigh. He looked very warm in the soft light of the room, and although you were dizzy and queasy and sore, you thought about what a privilege it would be if you could only run your hands over his body... That, however, was not to be.

He threw your torn robes at you contemptuously. Slowly and silently, you rose to put them back on. They were awkward to tie now that they’d been damaged, but you managed anyhow. When you were standing and fully-dressed again, you breathed deeply.

Anakin was still naked, tense, and trembling; still dripping with sweat, and your shared juices. Suddenly, though, he stopped looking so warm— goosebumps peppered his skin, and his eyes closed. His brow knitted at the centre to form a pained expression.

If either of you had been anyone else at that moment, you’d have taken him in your arms and cooed gentle words to him— but this was Anakin Skywalker, you had your own loyalties, and this was but an assignment for you. The broken, naked boy in front of you was proof of that.

Blood was crusting around your mouth, and you could feel your face beginning to swell. You turned away from his shaking figure; so young and formidable, and walked coolly toward the door. As your hand touched the pad used to open it, his breath became more audible, and with a shudder he warned, “Don’t _ever_ come back here.”

You did not answer that— instead, you simply slipped out the door, down a long hallway, and back out into the rainy night. Vehicles of all kinds zipped this way and that around you; humans, aliens, and sentient droids filled the streets with chatter and noise in spite of the late hour.

As you slinked away, sore and still dripping, you were certain you could hear— nearby, through a closed window— an anguished scream, and the sound of objects smashing.

It echoed in your mind, along with flashbulb memories of being full of him. Of his skin, his muscles, his rough voice, and his intriguingly brutal bionic hand. You hoped your success was such that you might be invited back to visit Ani again, before his ultimate destiny came to pass.

He was dangerous and savage, yet irredeemably sexy, and somehow so very fragile. You knew that no matter what, he could only ever hurt you. Future Sith Lord Anakin Skywalker was your perfect kind of man, and you hoped you would get the opportunity to break each other again soon.


	2. Disgust

You should have known it would lead to this, but you’d always been stupid sometimes. It could have been a fault, but you’d so often gotten things you wanted this way that you simply couldn’t see it as one. Anyhow, you were strong— the things you wanted were always worth paying for.

_Always worth paying for._ This thought weaved itself through your mind as you stepped lightly down a familiar street. As you turned a corner, your lips curled up into a smile; you knew you were drawing closer to your destination.

The last time you were here you’d been sent, but tonight you came of your own accord. You’d been lucky enough to become privy to some information which normally you would not have been told, and you hadn’t hesitated in using this to your advantage. 

Slipping through a set of doors, you stalked down a long corridor. You tried to contain yourself, but you knew your joy— and likely your desire— were palpable. You reached a new door; smaller and close to the end of the hallway, and you could feel your fingers tingling with excitement. 

Stopping before the tall barrier, you breathed in deeply. He was already in there, you knew— what you didn’t know was how he would react to you. All you had to do was get inside, maybe tease him a little bit. Make him mad. He would do the rest all by himself, you hoped, and perhaps for a while you would be able to excise from your mind your invasive thoughts of his body, and what he could do to you with it.

You knew the security code for the entry pad already, so you entered it, and the doors slid gracefully open.

As you peeked around the frame and stepped inside, it seemed that the room was as dark and quiet as it had been the last time you’d entered. Had you made a mistake; was he not here? You didn’t mind waiting a while, but who knew how long a while might be?

Then, a sound— rustling from the corner; a corner you’d left unexplored at the time of your last visit. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the low light, and then your stomach did a somersault as you realized what you were hearing: He was here... and asleep.

You dropped low to the floor and slinked silently over to the side of his bed. It was pushed up against a back wall, hidden amongst shadows, and far away from the nearest window. You knelt down and crept up to what looked like a bundle of sheets— but the bundle was breathing, and as you looked up toward the head of the bed, you saw beautiful blonde waves spilling out over a crisp, white pillowcase. Very gently, so as not to wake him too soon, you fingered those soft tendrils while you leaned over to peek at his face. He was turned away from you.

Even asleep he did not look peaceful; his brow, again, was knitted at the centre and his jaw must have been perpetually clenched. Tiny muscle movements interrupted the still of his unconsciousness, and even though you wanted to, you did not yet dare to touch him. Instead, you brought your face as close to the side of his as you could without your breath disturbing him. Leaning in from behind, you could smell his sweat; his soap... his deep unease. You could feel that handsome, amber mess tickle your cheek as you bravely put your lips near his ear.

_“Anakin...”_ You barely whispered. A soft noise erupted from the back of his throat; just a tiny bit louder, you repeated, “Anakin.”

For a painfully brief moment, his face softened. He rolled onto his back; you withdrew your head quickly from his space. He began to turn in your direction, but his eyes also began to open— and when they did, he shot up into a seated position like a bolt. You were still crouched from approaching him, and so he looked down on you now. His chest was bare and tense, and both recognition and anger flashed simultaneously through his eyes. He reached out very suddenly and grasped your neck tightly with— thankfully, you thought— his flesh hand. 

“I told you never to come back,” he growled at you. You could just barely breathe; he pressed his thumb harder into the front of your throat, and then you couldn’t breathe at all. You forced the remaining air out of your lungs with a grating squeak; at this, he let go, but he did not lower his hand.

“I had to come back,” you gasped as you caught your breath and touched your fingers to your tender neck.

“You have to leave,” he insisted, staring you down with utter disdain.

You shook your head, “I won’t go. I think you need me again.”

His hand clenched into a trembling fist. “I think I need you to get away from me.” He was scared, and you knew it— scared of himself. It was a good start.

“No,” and you rose, clambering up to sit on the edge of the bed, next to his outstretched legs. He backed up then, toward the wall. You leaned toward him and reached your hand out to trace a fine line along his collarbone; it was so pretty... 

At this he grasped you tightly around the wrist, but this time, not with any limb he’d been born with. Cold, metal digits; terrifyingly strong in spite of their efficient thinness, wrapped around the base of your hand and squeezed with what felt like merciless force. You let out a pained gasp, and for a split second, you witnessed a tiny smirk spread across those soft, pink lips.

“See,” you said almost excitedly, though the discomfort. 

He growled, released you, and shoved you violently. You fell backward off the side of his bed, landing sharply on your upper back— you knew enough, at least, to keep from letting him knock you out. You cried out in pain now as he whipped off his covers and stood to reveal his naked form. 

You’d seen him this way before, of course, but there was something about him leaping wildly out of his most personal space— large and tense; angry and frightened— that made his body excite you even more. You couldn’t help but notice his cock was half-hard. Whether the remnants of its waking stiffness, or more simply a result of his hurting you, you couldn’t tell—but you enjoyed the sight either way.

You smiled and got up on your knees; he came close, and you could feel your mouth practically start to water. He still had not said a thing to you since telling you to leave, so you ventured, “You’re beautiful, Anakin,” and reached out to run your hand upward, along the inside of a sinewy thigh. 

He choked back a noise, and spat at you, “Go to hell,” as he extended his flesh hand down to grasp you by the throat again. This time he did not squeeze; rather, he threw you to the floor like trash. You caught your breath quickly after admiring the starburst that briefly filled your vision. You recovered, however, this time to your feet— you weren’t going to be deterred; certainly not so easily.

You knew if you could get him to lose control, even for a minute, he would hit you— and once he hit you, his floodgates would open, and you could have him exactly the way you wanted him. He’d satisfied you like nothing else ever had the last time you’d come to him, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his body. The way he had hit you, choked you, slammed you, and filled you— it was addictive, and you needed the experience of him to be fresh again in your mind. 

“Are you having too much fun already, Ani?” You stepped toward him; his eyes grew wide again, but just for a second. He’d trained his fear to turn into anger, and turn so quickly— he thought that he was so smart for it, but this would surely be his downfall. You were going to make sure you enjoyed every second of it that you could. “You have so much terrible energy built up inside of you,” you said, and it was very true, “Don’t you remember how nice it felt to let it out?”

His eyes wavered, and he looked down on you— so big and tall and strong for such a young, wild little boy. Finally he began to answer, “I don’t want to—“

“Please?” And you turned your expression soft; as soft as you could, looking up at him with big doe-eyes as you put your hands on his bare chest and pressed your still-clothed hips into his own naked thighs. Through your thin leggings you felt his length twitch. Both of his hands, the flesh one and the bionic one, then clenched again. “Better me than her... remember?”

Another dark growl, infused with deep anxiety, “Why are you doing this to me?”

“It’s for your own good, Anakin.” You said this decisively, and he winced at what he thought was the truth of it. So you added, “Hurt me,” as you ran your nails softly down his torso. You stopped near the centre of his impossibly firm stomach to swirl your fingertip around his bellybutton.

“I—“

You stood on your tiptoes and tilted your head upward to whisper to him closely, interrupting him, “Has she even spoken to you?” You giggled, “Hurt me, you filthy little slave boy... or do you have too much sand stuck in your ears to understand me?”

The blow he delivered to the side of your head at your insult deafened you briefly in one of your ears and sent you tumbling back, but not to the floor this time. You’d bitten your tongue, and it was bleeding a little bit, but still you grinned with crimson-stained teeth, “See? Garbage. Show me, so she won’t see that grimy heart.”

He marched toward you, so you stood up straight and continued, “I want the darkest parts of you, Ani, so you can save the rest for her. Show me. Show me what you’d do, if you could..._ because you can_.”

Whatever it was in him that you’d needed to break this time, you had successfully broken, and he grabbed you violently by the shoulders. Big, hard fingertips and short, sharp nails dug into you on one side; cold steel rods pinched on the other. He lifted you clear off your feet and swung you; he then let go, and you landed roughly on the floor at the side of his bed, your back flush against the leg.

He followed, and you scrambled up the side until you were back on top of his mattress, in just the spot you’d been sitting before he’d shoved you off. You leaned back, held up by the palms of your hands, and waited for him to reach you; when he did, he wasted little time in bending over you. He stared fiery daggers as he grasped the collar of your robe with his hands and wrenched the fabric apart, exposing your breasts to him. Loudly; furiously, _“This!? You want this again, then!?_” 

You let the now-loose fabric fall down your arms, but you didn’t move yet. “Yes, Ani,” you smiled, “and so do you.” Then you shed the last of the torn robe, shaking it off your wrists and discarding it to the floor. 

His eyes narrowed into dark points, and he hissed at you as he yet again clamped his natural hand over your throat. He forced you down so that your back was flat on his bed, and straddled your hips, still covered by thin fabric. He was hard, now, and you strained your eyes a bit to stare at his cock— memories of it pounding into you filled your mind. He must have sensed the pleasure this brought you, because he released your neck and backhanded you sharply in the side of the face. You smiled, and he drew back to smack you again; this time, you bit the inside of your cheek and blood started to fill your mouth. You lifted your head, and spit a blob of angry red onto the clean, white expanse of fabric beneath you.

He bent over and brought his face close to yours; soaked with hatred, he said, “You are a sick whore.”

“And you are a stinking, toiling, _pathetic_ little joke,” you replied instantly, and gleefully.

He grunted angrily as he sat up on his knees and took the fabric of your leggings in his hands; one being metal, he ripped through it easily. Like a rabid dog, he tore and wrenched until all that was left were two loose sleeves hanging pathetically on your legs. Now that you were completely exposed to him, he took very little time in forcing two harsh steel digits into your cunt, which made you cry out— and made him smirk again. They had no give; no softness to them whatsoever, and as he probed you deeply with them, the newness of the sensation both hurt and excited you. When he withdrew the metallic appendages, they were already coated in your slickness. 

His smirk turned to a sneer and he forced his hand at your face; his unnatural fingers into your mouth. “That’s what a squalid, vile tramp tastes like. Do you like that too?”

“Mhmm...” Muffled noises escaped your lips from around his fingers; he pulled them from your mouth so that you could answer him, “Only when _you_ feed it to me, Ani,” as more blood pooled at the side of your mouth and dribbled out onto the now-marred whiteness of his bedding.

He swung his leg over so that he was sitting beside you, instead of on top. He grabbed a massive handful your hair, hand still slick with your spit and blood. He wrenched you up into a seated position, and lowered his head to look at your eyes. You looked back at his, and their darkness was all-consuming— consuming of him more than anything, but when he spoke, you could practically feel the loathing bleed through his sharp words and out onto you— “You’re hungry, then?”

Tears gathered in your eyes at the sting of being held up this way, but you managed a sound indicating that, yes, you were simply starving.

He squeezed the handful of hair, and pumped his cock a couple of times with his free, natural hand; then he forced you down again and infiltrated your mouth. “Alright— _choke_.” 

Just as before, the thickness and length of him near-completely filled your breathing space; his head ticked your gag reflex, and you choked and sputtered as your tears spilled over onto your face. Blood, spit, and his essence dribbled out the corners of your mouth, forced wide. He took your head between his two hands and forced it down; down until he was sure you were about to vomit on his cock.

When he finally reefed you away from his crotch, you were breathing heavily and your face was slick, but you could still taste him through your own blood. His flavour was, still, the best thing you thought you’d ever tasted, so you gasped, _“Thank you.”_

He was still holding your head, so at this he forced you down onto your back and straddled you again. “Fuck you,” he spat. Inhumaly and with his teeth bared, he put his face up close to yours; forced your mouths together with violent persistence. You could swear you felt a piece of one of your teeth chip off as he smashed into you, probing your bloody mouth deeply with his tongue. 

He reached downward with his hand, now, to hastily guide his cock into your cunt; you were soaked. His disgust with how eagerly you accepted him only made him harder. Your body screamed with pain, but the stretch of him entering you was like heaven. You moaned gratefully into his mouth as he pressed down and filled you. He took his mouth away from yours, and sunk his teeth deeply; harshly, into your neck as your walls swelled and gripped his length. You screamed, now. He released your flesh from his bite, put his mouth to your ear, and whispered in a familiar way that made your skin crawl pleasantly, “Shut... The.... Fuck... _Up_.”

Propping himself up on his elbows, he started to thrust into you, and thrust very hard. His weight pressed on you as he rattled your lower half; the hardest muscles you’d ever seen or felt contorted violently as Anakin forced his way into your depths with all of his strength, over and over. Suddenly, his movements became less rhythmic and somehow he seemed to stiffen even more inside of you— you knew he was going to let go soon if he didn’t stop, and you were not finished with him yet... 

So, taking advantage of his having lost himself in whatever twisted feelings were built up inside of him, you pushed with your legs. You forced him to withdraw; scrambled on your back toward the head of the bed.

The sudden emptiness was frustrating for you, but Anakin was enraged— half-sobbing; half-screaming, he leapt back on top of you with sadistic wrath. He wrapped his ankles around your legs, pinning them; then he grabbed your wrists, and pressed them deeply into the plush of the bed. You focused on everything you could feel: His knees pressing into the insides of your own legs, to fine blonde pubic hairs just tickling your needy clit, to that washboard stomach and impossibly strong chest which were holding you fast to the mattress. The metal comprising his bionic hand had absorbed your body heat, and by now nearly felt too hot altogether. It was unforgiving in its force. You could feel his pulse through the fingers on the hand that was truly his; it was fast, and reflected his inner anxiety even more than his exterior rage.

You wiggled about underneath him, deliberately massaging the head of his cock with your body. He winced. His face was just inches away from yours, so you took a vile opportunity— you stared into his eyes and returned one of his gifts to you from your first meeting; sent a glob of bloody spit flying past your lips and straight at the side of his mouth. It splattered onto his cheek near his eye, and did not take long to drip unceremoniously down his chin. 

He bared his teeth at this, which made you laugh. He released you from his pin, then, only to wrench you around harshly so that your face was pressed into the bed and his hips were pushing into your ass. He leaned in to tear at the back of your shoulder with his teeth; sucking, clamping down— almost certainly drawing blood, before he rose up on his knees again and took your hips in his hands.

He pulled you up so that your back end was level with his hardness; he then thrust two flesh fingers into your pussy and spread the slick, copious liquid over his cock. He did it once more, this time lubricating your ass. You tried your best not to tense too much with your mixture of fear and excitement as— with a long and hitching moan— he worked himself inside until he was buried to the hilt between your soft, smooth cheeks. You wondered if his wife ever let him do this.

He grabbed back onto your hips with his own hand, gripping tightly. Then, with two metal fingers, he reached down under his cock. To your great surprise, instead of simply thrusting them roughly inside of you, he used them to explore your soaking folds and excruciatingly engorged clit. You fought back groans, tears, and screams as the unique sensation of slick metal over your wet vulva brought you to a hot, shuddering climax. He felt you contracting and trembling beneath and around him. Once he knew he’d made you reach your own peak, he grabbed your hips with both hands again, and finally started to thrust in and out of your tightest hole. 

He began slowly, but that didn’t last— soon he was mercilessly hammering you, and you couldn’t help but cry out again. He didn’t have the words to quiet you, though— instead he panted, you screamed, and his cock hardened further inside of this new and different part of you. You could not wiggle away ordeny him this time; he had you gripped as if you were in a vice, and he was simply too strong to resist.

Suddenly, a painful emptiness again, as he wrenched himself out of you and yelled out in a deliciously rich voice— nearly as if he’d been shot. You felt a hot, wet mess spill out onto your back; tendrils of Anakin’s sticky essence reached from the base of your neck down to the end of your spine. It began to drip as you breathed unevenly and let your body sink down onto the mattress. 

Anakin sank, too, down to his hands and knees. Slowly, you felt him move away from you until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. You turned your head to look at his back; you relished the sight of the wet, trembling musculature and tangled, sweaty blonde. His placed his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. You heard him huff quietly, but could not really decode the sound. Goosebumps formed on your own skin, and you sat up; scraps of your leggings still half-heartedly hanging around your ankles. Anakin did not move, but from his stooped and trembling form, you heard, “Now leave.”

You crawled along the bed so that you, too, were sitting on the edge. Calmly, “I don’t have any clothes. You destroyed them.”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright.” You got up, somewhat unsteadily, and paced across the room. On a very plain coat tree, there was a single hooded cloak— the one you’d seen him discard, soaking wet from rain, the other time you’d come to visit. It was large and loose, especially on your frame, and you slipped it on. It covered everything that needed to be covered for you to leave, and you turned to gauge his reaction to your having taken it.

There was none— he was unnervingly still, simply perched on his bed, holding his face in two sharply contrasting hands. Again, in any other circumstance— in any other universe— you’d have been irresistibly compelled to envelop him in an embrace. But you didn’t, because it was not your place. Later on, you might be praised for pushing him further into darkness, or punished severely for overstepping boundaries... but, it would never be your job to hold him, no matter what else you did or were able to make him do.

You had reflected on this for too long, you realized, when— still unmoving— he said in a voice different from any you’d heard him use yet, “_Go_...” Then, after a single distinct, heavy sob, he added in a whisper, “...please.”

He wasn’t looking at you, so you simply said, “I’ll see you later, Ani,” and made the doors to his quarters slide open. You stepped out into the hall, just beginning to feel the burn of your fresh injuries. Your neck and throat, your back, your head... the inside of your mouth, and your entire lower half... all throbbed more with each passing second from the abuse you’d willed him to impose on you. You could feel the mess on your back stick to his cloak with every step you took as you walked farther away from him. 

Before the doors finally and mercifully slid shut, you heard him start to cry— he was still a boy, you thought. The soft noise was cut off, and you smiled sadly. You enjoyed greatly what he did to you in his pain, and you knew that his path to the Dark Side was inevitable, but you also knew that there was so much light in him to be quashed— and that would be; was already, extremely painful for him. 

The road to Anakin’s personal hell was, indeed, paved with the absolute best of intentions. Although it was devastating, the inevitability of his inner death made you happy to be part of laying the stones on which he would slip gracelessly into darkness.

He hated you, and wished with every fibre of his being that you would leave him be, but you couldn’t— and wouldn’t. You stalked away into the night yet again, this time wearing his clothes, and knowing with certainty that you had to come back to help him some more.


	3. Shock

You sighed as you sank down to the floor beside your own front door. You’d just entered your room after a long day of running errands for a certain, rather demanding Senator. Things had been chaotic, politically, in your part of the star system as of late... however, you were not in the habit of being well-informed as to the nuances of the bureaucratic strife surrounding you. You were too often mired in the challenges presented by your own job to care. Anyway, the Senator always made arguments in favour of his actions that, to you, seemed like they made sense.

You’d had a mostly uneventful— but very long and tiring— day, and all you had wanted to do for the past several hours was fall down. Now that you could, you did— as your back slid down the wall, you tilted your head up to look at the ceiling and sigh. As the sound escaped you, a short row of hooks beside the entrance caught your eye: Hanging on one of them was a cloak; ragged and stained in spots, and the colour of dark wood.

Smiling, you felt grateful for the reminder that the jobs assigned to you were not _all_ bad. Boring, sometimes, but not all of the time— and when they were exciting, they were _very_ exciting. You sighed again; contentedly this time, as you reached up to finger the hem of the hanging garment, remembering the night you’d obtained it. You had neither washed it nor used it since then, and it had felt like quite a long time...

A wistful look came onto your face as you continued to stare up; finally, you stood and grasped the fabric in two large handfuls. You gathered it up to your nose and breathed in deeply, trying to catch the scent of its original owner. You had done this often; more often after you’d first obtained it, but still frequently enough that you could call it a habit. The smell had become less prominent with the passage of time, as was natural, but your brow furrowed today as you thought to yourself, _It smells like... well, like he’s just been wearing it._

You shrugged to yourself, and simply enjoyed the aroma for a few moments, until a quiet, low sound manifested very suddenly behind you. You froze, and the noise turned into words, barely audible and seeping with derision, “I believe that belongs to me.”

You spun around, quickly, because you both recognized the voice and knew that its presence here should have been impossible. 

It was possible, however, because standing in your room— undeniably genuine; a solid and living object, dressed in black with thick leather accents— was, in fact, the owner of the cloak hanging on your wall. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes— it had, truly, felt like _so long_. You had not been punished for visiting him of your own accord before, but neither had you been afforded even a single opportunity to be near him again. You knew he hated you; as well he should, and to see him standing before you without having had to seek him out felt surreal.

“Anakin?”

He was as beautiful as he ever had been, although there was a new pallor to his skin and sickness behind his eyes that you couldn’t help but notice. He looked like a handsome prince who had not slept for weeks; a brutally strong warrior with a deep-seated fearfulness and torment that was slowly overtaking him. He didn’t answer you right away, but his lip quivered as you spoke his name, so you said it again, as though it were a question.

“_Anakin_?”

He strode toward you expressionlessly; when he reached you, he grabbed his garment and wrenched the fabric from your hands. He held it himself for a few moments, squeezing it tightly, before dropping it to the floor and meeting your eye. He looked angry, but his first words to you were an admission: “You were right.”

“I was—?”

“I need you,” he interrupted. “I need you _now_.” He moved in close to you; very close, until you were pressed between a wall and a wide chest swathed in black and bound by leather.

He had caught you off-guard— both other times you’d mingled with him, you’d had the upper-hand; you had been prepared. This time, however, he was the one ambushing you. Not that you were about to complain, but you certainly weren’t ‘on’— your reservoir of wit had run dry after the length of your day, your body and mind were tired, and you looked at him with a mixture of confusion and unintentional sympathy as you began, “I don’t und—“

He interrupted you again, this time by forcing on you a violent, predatory kiss— he was not kind or gentle as he placed a gloved hand— the one fashioned of metal; you could feel it— flat on your chest. He pushed it hard against your breastbone to ensure you could not escape him. Then, he ran his tongue over the tiny chips he had inflicted on your teeth the last time he’d kissed you roughly like this; the last time he’d beaten you about the head and called you a whore.

You struggled instinctively, although your eyes opened to look at what you could see of him as he pressed into you— dark and brooding as before, but now with an unsubdued mania that shocked, intrigued, and frightened you all at once. He was pale and sweating; very tense, and without any hint of the inner restraint that you’d had to work so hard to overcome before. As he drew back from your mouth, you looked over his always-divine blonde waves, wildly tangled and sticking with fresh sweat to his neck. 

You straightened your back; looked up into his perfect blue eyes, and noticed there was another colour shot through them; something sickly. The fingers on the hand he was using to press on your chest clenched; dug into you, and you gasped before asking, “What’s going on?”

He seemed to be able to look straight through you with those eyes of his, and he did as he answered, “I told you— you were right.” His other hand came up to your head; also covered in leather. He used it to touch your hair gently but briefly before gathering it in his hands just as you had his cloak, and pulling hard. “I need you. You’ve come to me twice, and each time, I’ve hated it; hated you. But each time, my new powers...” He winced at the admission, “...They’ve grown.” He released your hair and you started to look down to shake your head, but he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced you to tilt your face back upward. “Look at me. I said, _I need you._” 

Having gathered yourself somewhat by now, you did not flinch; instead, you smiled, and, unmoving, “Alright— what do you need me for, Ani?” Your hands were free, and you daringly— stupidly, If you were being honest, but you didn’t care— slid them around his waist; past his lightsaber, over the heavy leather of his belt. You clasped them together around his back and smiled at him sweetly. This wasn’t the night you’d planned, but you also were not disappointed.

You weren’t prepared, but you did want him— wanted him badly, as you had every day since the first time. The longer he stood close to you, the worse it got; between his broad shoulders, handsome features, tortured eyes, and delicious sweat borne of anger and fear... how were you to have resisted him? 

He’d paused for a moment; now his breathing had become less even, and his lip trembled before he spat out, “I need to hurt you,” followed by an echo of some of your first words to him, “So nothing can ever hurt _her_.” For a second, his eyes looked glassy and wet, but he blinked it away. 

You had the distinct feeling that he was acting very much unlike his typical self, but you didn’t mind— you liked this Anakin Skywalker. This was the Anakin you had tried so hard to draw out; the Anakin whose abuse you had relished, and whose violent touch you craved. So what if he had done the hard part of the work for you this time?

Warmth welled up inside of your belly; you could feel yourself becoming wet and swollen at a combination of his harsh voice and imposing physicality. Your arms were still snaked around him, so you squeezed; pulling him in. Then you whispered, “You’re a smart boy, Ani...” and giggled as you nuzzled his chest.

He took a step away from you, still glaring with derision. You prepared yourself for the sensation of a leather palm striking your cheek, but Anakin was full of surprises today. 

He drew back, instead, with a closed fist; sultry mouth wrenched into a scowl. Before your face could register your shock, you were falling fast to the floor. All you could feel were your throbbing head and hungry, aching core as your skull hit sleek tile with a _pop_. The last thing you saw before your vision faded to black was a roughly-hewn coil of rope set on the floor behind this strange, willfully dark Anakin’s feet.


	4. Disorder

You woke to a persistent, dull pain in your head, quickly superseded by the distinct and strange sensation of being pulled in more than one direction. You ripped open your eyes; it was difficult, and they stung as the light hit them. You looked around as best you could, lifting your head a few inches off the bed, and this was how you realized two things: 

Your four limbs were bound to the four corners of your bed, and you were naked. But why—? You supposed he hadn’t wanted to waste time and energy keeping you in place with his mind— or perhaps he had simply relished the sight of you so obviously helpless. There was no way for you to know, and little time to think about it.

You panicked briefly; thought perhaps Anakin had simply left you like this. Then, you remembered what he had said to you when you’d come home, and an illogical relief swept over you as your eyes scanned the room for him.

You heard him before you saw him— “Are you looking for me?”

Smiling through bleary eyes; able to feel your jaw and most of your face swelling, “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”

“I told you— I was wrong. And I can’t afford to be wrong now.” He stepped out from the shadows at the far side of the room; still dressed, still imposing; still wild in a way you’d had to force before.

“I knew you would do anything to keep from hurting her,” you said, knowing that he loved poor Padme; yes— but more than that, he loved being able to _have_ her. He didn’t understand the difference, and it made you feel his pain all that much more poignantly. You wanted to tell him that you were helping to condition him for violence more than you were helping to protect her, but you didn't.

He said gravely, “It’s so much more, and you would never understand.” He stepped over to you; you could hear his boots click; his dark tunic rustle, even faintly smell the scent of his gloves. 

He trailed a single finger up your leg, still swathed in thick leather, and continued, “The Senator says that women like you are good conduits for darkness. I resisted that, at first— but now I think he’s right.” He reached your centre and immediately pushed two digits into you; they were flesh, you could feel their warmth through the material. You’d already been beginning to drip in want of him before he’d knocked you out; you were still slick with desire. His fingers entered you with little resistance, although the sudden stretch made you moan— which made him snarl, but he didn’t say anything else.

You looked away from Anakin and down at your body to where his fingers were buried inside you; as you did, he curled them inward, and you whimpered. He withdrew them as if they’d never entered you, and took another step up to the head of the bed, where he kneeled down beside your face. You turned your head to look at him, and confirmed, “I think he’s right too, Ani. What are you going to do?”

He leaned in close; all you could see of him was his beautiful, angry mouth, a quivering chin, and trembling strands of loose hair. In a deep, raspy whisper, “I’m going to _hurt you_.” He reached up and grabbed the same huge, wrenching handful of your hair as he had before; twisted it harshly to make you yell, and added, “No matter how much it hurts me.” 

He threw your head down as he let go, and stood up. You wondered what he would do, when he answered immediately and wordlessly by clamping a large hand over the whole of your neck. He didn’t press at first; just looked at you, presumably to gauge your reaction. You didn’t give him one, so he went slowly— first his index finger, then the middle one, pushing. He paused as you drew in a wheezing, shuddering breath, then continued on to drive his last two fingers down until they, too, were stopped by bone and cartilage. 

You could not squeeze even a bit of air in or out of your lungs by this point, so you started to writhe, but Ani had tied you tightly, and you succeeded only in bucking your hips up and down. He seemed to draw some pleasure from this; you saw his lip curl into a subtle smirk before he pressed down with his thumb, and began to close his whole hand shut.

Black started to invade the edges of your vision again, and then he let go. As you gasped and panted, you looked at him. You had no idea what expression was on your face, but inside, you felt a well of fear begin to bubble up from the depths of your stomach and spread. It dawned on you that you did not have anything remotely resembling the upper hand in this situation; that Anakin was in total control, as he so liked to be— and that he was also deeply unwell.

He’d expressed reluctance, restraint (if rudimentary), and a greater desire to push you away than destroy you, before. You sensed that those scales had now tipped somehow, and besides that, _he_ had invaded _your_ territory this time, instead of vice-versa. This made you feel uneasy as he leaned down again to look closely at the marks on your neck. 

You wondered, in passing, if this was the punishment you thought you hadn’t received for visiting him without permission. Actually, you’d thought not being allowed to see him had been the punishment— and it had been effective; you’d hated it— but perhaps this was the real correction you ought to have been expecting. This thought both frightened you, and made the soft flesh between your legs continue to drip and swell.

He felt this conflicted nervousness; you knew he did, and he used hard metal digits still concealed by thick black leather to gently stroke the fingermarks encircling your neck. He could feel you drawing in sharp breaths as the seams of his glove brushed over sensitive skin. He leaned close to your ear, and whispered, “_Don’t scream._”

You barely had time to see the flash of teeth he bared as he moved to bite your neck with unrestrained force. In spite of his instruction, you released a shrieking yell. He twisted his head on his way up so as to catch your bruised flesh in an excruciating way and you screamed again. 

Now standing above you, he drew back— this time with an open palm, you thought gratefully— and smacked you hard in the side of the face. You bit the inside of your cheek; a tiny amount of blood began to coat your tongue, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he slapped the other side of your face, too. Your teeth hit your lip hard on impact, and more blood gushed down your chin.

Harshly, “I said, ‘don’t scream’.”

You couldn’t wipe your mouth, so you ignored the stream of crimson, and replied with a pout, “You made me.”

That hint of a smirk again; then, “Whore.” He reached back down to your cunt; gathered two fingers full of sticky wetness, and thrust them deep into your mouth. He pushed on your tongue, then tickled the back of your throat to make you gag. You bit down instinctively, but registered only pain as you realized he’d not used his natural hand.

After watching your eyes tear up, he pulled his fingers away from your face and stopped just to stare for a moment with disdain at the blood that dripped off. Then, he brought his hands to the front of his tunic and began to unclip first his weapon, then his belt, and placed them on the floor beside the bed. Unbound, he lifted the garment up over his head and discarded it, too. He did not, yet, remove his gloves.

Even in your current position, you found your eyes were unable to take in enough of his sturdy elegance to satisfy you. Your hands longed to explore every last inch of the powerful, athletic physique he was presenting to you, and it elicited a painful hunger deep inside of you to know that you couldn’t. As you thought about handfuls of soft, blonde tangles and strong, writhing muscles, he placed an inhumanly hard thumb and forefinger next to one of your own cold, erect nipples— and he flicked it.

You winced; he covered your breast with his hand and squeezed hard enough to leave angry, red streaks on your skin before running his palm harshly and haltingly along your ribcage, over your hip, and down to your thigh. He stopped and lingered there; looked up at you, and said, “You’re not like my wife. I’ve put her in a...” His voice wavered; he looked down, buried his feelings of love, and guilt. “...vulnerable place.” He regained his composure. “But I’m going to fix it, and you’re helping me. She deserves so much better than these kinds of...” He narrowed his eyes and dug into the flesh of your leg sharply, “..._indignities_.”

“I know she does, Ani,” you replied softly. “You’re a good man to do this for her.”

Another snarl, then he moved his head to meet his hand and sank his bite into your leg, just as hard as he had into your neck. The flesh there, being softer, allowed his teeth to sink into it deeply until you swore you could feel the skin begin to break. He climbed deftly between your legs, only to do this again, and again, biting and tearing at the inside of your thigh until his mouth was inches away from your core. 

The wounds throbbed with pain, but you merely whimpered. He grasped your legs and began to flick his tongue at your soaked folds. Another gush as he pushed it into you; he made an approving noise in spite of himself, then he began to lick your clit rhythmically. Slow, then fast, then faster still, until you were clenching your fingers and throwing your hips wildly up into his face as you let hoarse, primal groans fill your room. He slipped a single finger into you, and curled it into the perfect spot.

The tiny, greedy hardness of that starving nub of yours began to drive you mad and your breathing became erratic. More of you dripped out around his finger— your pussy was engorged around it— and you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting...

Then, he removed his digit and lifted his head, ceasing his contact with you. It was cruelly sudden, and you knew why he had done it— but it didn’t stop you from screaming out of a frustration you couldn’t control.

He climbed away and stood beside the bed again. Your noise, of course, drew from him another harsh backhanded blow. “_Stop screaming._ God, you’re stupid.”

You snivelled and coughed. You knew that already; you’d have laughed about it, but you knew better. Still leering at you, he unfastened the front of his pants and heaved them clear off, wrenching them over his boots and kicking them away.

He was naked now, except for those dark leather boots, and gloves. A throbbing erection, as hard and beautiful as you remembered it, dripped eagerly as you bit your sore lip in anticipation. 

The same slight, almost malevolent smirk returned for a minute to his face; he asked, “Do you want it?” You nodded, and he shot his hand out to grasp your chin. “Tell me, then.”

You moved your face away from his grip; he allowed this. “I want it.”

“You want what?”

“Your cock.”

“Altogether, now.”

“_I want your cock._”

“Good girl.”

He climbed back onto the bed; this time straddled your chest. The sight of a shiny boot passing over you made your breath hitch; as he positioned himself over you, you savoured the sight of his taut stomach and unyielding legs. When his length was positioned just outside of your mouth, he wiped the tip of it off on your lips; traced them with the head, and groaned as you flitted an impatient tongue out to greet his sex.

Finally, he thrust it fully and deeply inside; he didn’t stop until your body stopped him. You tried hard not to gag in your prone position, but it was very difficult as he started to slam his engorged length repeatedly past your teeth and tongue. You willed your throat to open and let the tears gathered at the corners of your eyes start to stream down your face; they mixed with your blood and stained your sheets with morbid swirls.

He pushed hard; very hard, you could smell his sweat and feel soft, dark-blonde hairs brush against your nose. Your senses were consumed by him entirely; when he withdrew to sit up high above you, one knee on either side of your chest, you coughed and watched bloody spit trail from the head of his cock down onto your breasts.

He stared at you; you met eyes with him— his seemed, for a brief moment, like glimmering crystal— and he trembled. “Ani?” You could feel blood, both wet and dry, coating the entire lower half of your face; taste it along with with salty hints of his essence. You knew you looked pathetic, and he knew too.

He breathed in deeply, as though he needed to steady himself. “Quiet.” He got off of you and the bed; turned his back to you and clenched his fists. It occurred to you that he was, perhaps, crumbling now as he had when you’d left him— both times— before. You didn’t know what to do about it; from your position, bound and injured, you could only watch his personal tragedy unfold. You were privy only to tiny pieces of its meaning, and the things it made him do to you. 

Would he stop, now? If he did, you knew, he would simply hurt. God knows what would happen to his wife, although you knew to see him now that their love was doomed.

“Ani...” You looked over at his shaking back. He produced a noise; almost a retch. You made a decision, one borne of compassion. Anger, for him, was better than pain— and you didn’t mind to be hurt, yourself... especially not by the manifestation of physical perfection that was Anakin Skywalker. So, you repeated, “Ani?”

Quietly, “What?”

“Hurt me.”

Silence; stillness, except for his trembling. 

“Did you forget why you came?”

Nothing.

“Still too much sand, hmm?”

“_Stop._”

“You know I’m trying to help.”

He turned his head to peer back at you over his shoulder; large, nude, slick. He looked, at this moment, so unlike the version of him you’d first encountered that— for a split second— you nearly didn’t believe it was him.

But, it was. Those beautiful eyes, now somehow deeply corrupted, couldn’t have belonged to anyone else.

He rose, marched back over to where he’d tied you so tightly. You could see that he’d shed tears, but his face had hardened once again, and you realized that what you’d just seen was, indeed, a glimmer of the light he so desperately needed to repress. Whatever he needed to do this for, the act of doing it was against his nature— but his need to possess and dominate had long since begun to mingle with, and overtake, that loving instinct. It was crushing him, and he couldn’t stop it; couldn’t seem to afford to.

He kneeled by your head again; you could feel his breath. He didn’t speak; instead, he removed his gloves and dropped them to the floor with his other clothes. 

With his own index finger; the one he’d been born with, he traced a line along your jaw; all the way down to your chin, then he drew it up to the corner of your mouth. He slipped it inside and probed at your tongue, your teeth, and the wounds on the inside of your swollen, bloodied lips. You remained still for him, only blinking when he removed his finger. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, flatly.

“Don’t be.”

He glared, but his voice softened. “The first time you came, you were sent. Then, you chose to come back.” He seemed almost confused. “Why?”

You hesitated, because you could no longer read him. What was this, now? Finally, you managed, “I wanted you.”

“You should have been terrified.”

If you could have shrugged, you would have. You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t especially bothered by physical pain; even enjoyed it, and anyway, even if you hadn’t— he had to know how beautiful he was, yes? You realized he likely didn’t, and that it was a shame. You didn’t let your mind linger, however. Instead, you simply reiterated, “I just wanted you.”

His eyes stopped glaring; turned simply to looking, but he did not say anything. Still knelt by your head, he placed his hand on the side of your face; stroked it with his thumb. Then he ran it down to your breast; squeezed more softly than you thought he could. He stroked and pinched at a stiff nipple, producing a gasp from you. Then, his hand continued its journey down your body, much more gingerly this time. It stopped to feel at your ribs; toy briefly with your bellybutton, trace a line down your hip. 

He stood, leaned over, and let his steel appendage take the same languid trip down the other side of you. It felt unfamiliar; you shuddered, and goosebumps covered your skin. You still couldn’t read him; his face looked unaffected, but the sickness shot through his eyes had wavered again.

He took his hands away and walked down the length of the bed, to where he’d tied your feet. He scaled the edge, crawling up between your legs. He ran his fingers up them; you could feel the contrast between steel and skin very sharply as they moved in tandem, and the uniqueness of that sensation made you wiggle and whine. 

He took hold of your hips, gently this time, and began to once again slip his tongue around your centre. He moved very slowly now; licking every fold, and warmly sucking on your still-stiff little nub. He pushed his tongue inside of you several times, drawing out more wetness. He moaned into your core, and this made you try to buck, but he kept you pressed to the bed as he began the same expert, rhythmic licking with which he’d tortured you earlier.

Presently, however, he did not stop as you began to cry out more loudly; resist his grip more strongly, and squeeze your eyes shut with anticipation. He continued his work; slowing, speeding, increasing the pressure behind his tongue. Soon he slipped a finger inside of you; the same one as before, and curled it, also in just the same, perfect way. Your body writhed and you broke out in a sweat as finally; graciously, a violently shuddering climax wracked you from the tips of the fingers on your bound hands, to the toes on the feet you also could still not move. 

Breathing very heavily, you felt his finger slide out, and his body slipped aptly over yours as he crawled further up the bed, and you. Your faces met, and without taking a minute to look or speak, he pressed his mouth onto yours. He ignored the blood crusting around your lips, and closed his eyes as he ran his tongue around your teeth. You could taste your own contentment on him as he licked at the wounds on the inside of your mouth and explored the damage he had done to your teeth and tongue. 

He was propped up on his elbows, but his torso was pushed into you, and you could feel a still-wanting hardness against your leg. You threw your hips up and in return, he pressed his own down into you. This made you cry into his mouth and clench the fingers of your hands— you had, indeed, yearned to touch him in this way for so long, but had known that you could and should not, lest you toy with his destiny. 

It was why you’d left him in pain before... but now you couldn’t— he wasn’t letting you— so you gratefully gave into what was an apparently mutual, aching thirst as much as your position would allow.

Out the corner of your eye, you glimpsed his hand rise; his real one, and his fingers moved intricately in the air. Suddenly, your shoulders felt as though they could relax; your arms as though they could move. Restricted circulation returned, and so did your capacity. Wrists unbound from Anakin’s roughly-hewn rope, your hands shot straight to his back; you wrapped him in as strong an embrace as you could muster as he leaned into you— nearly too hard, but with no malice.

You let your hands explore the flawless body laying on top of you; every ideal ridge and hard, jolting muscle. You felt your feet come untied as well; as the rope slid from your ankles, you wrapped them around his powerful calves. Nothing you could reach went untouched, and you could feel the head of his cock begin to leak again. You made a desperate noise and he broke your kiss; kept his nose nuzzled closely next to yours. He opened his eyes.

In a very low, husky whisper, “Tell me what you want.”

You slid one hand up his back and into his hair. It was just as you’d imagined; unexpectedly silky as you untangled it with your fingertips, and damp with sweat and pain. You murmured back the same thing you had said to him before, because you didn’t know what he was willing to give you— although you really didn’t care, because as always, you’d have taken anything; _anything_ he offered.__

_ _“_I just want you._”_ _

_ _A sad smile from Ani; then a noise between a laugh and a sob. He lifted his torso; reached down with one hand to guide himself into you. It felt nothing like the first time, or the second— the stretch did not burn; was slow and steady and you welcomed him hungrily as he eased himself deep inside you. _ _

_ _Buried to the hilt, he let out a shuddering breath, then brought his arm back up. He touched your face, this time tenderly, and kissed you again as he began to thrust. He began sedately; almost haltingly, until he soon progressed into a rhythm reminiscent of the once he’d used to lick you to orgasm. _ _

_ _You raked the nails of one hand along his skin; scratched gently at his scalp with those of the other as you clenched his hair possessively in your fingers. As his speed and force increased, you wrapped your own legs more firmly around his, and squeezed tightly. He broke your kiss; threw back his head to let out a moan, and you gazed from beneath his captivating face as the dam holding back the peak of his pleasure broke. _ _

_ _His moan became a yell; familiar to your ears, and you felt the weight of him crash into you as he lost command of his body. His muscles tensed all at once, and he shot a hot, drawn-out blast of his own essence deep inside of you. He bucked and rutted until he couldn’t anymore; then he collapsed face-down atop you, head nestled in the space between your own shoulder and jaw._ _

_ _Both breathing heavily, you squeezed him in your arms; one hand still tangled in his hair, the other resting on his back atop fresh, pink scratches. You were both silent, then he pressed his hands into your mattress and slipped his own arms around your back. Still, neither of you spoke, and as the minutes ticked by, you noticed his breathing become very even; his muscles loosen. He slid part of the way off of you, but you continued to hold him and he you; eventually, you knew for certain that he had fallen asleep._ _

_ _Unbound now, you did not try to wriggle out from underneath him. Your face hurt; your mouth, your eyes, the bones in your nose and cheeks. It was a feeling nearly comforting in its familiarity by this point, but experiencing Anakin’s resting heartbeat through your fingers and the heat of his body through your skin made it very, very different._ _

_ _You closed your eyes and savoured his breath on your neck as you held him. You’d fantasized about this, but had not thought it possible. Now, though, he had been the one to force it, and you were grateful for the responsibility having been taken out of your hands. You willed yourself to relax, slowly, as you ran through your mind all of the different outcomes that this situation could possibly have._ _

_ _None, in that moment, seemed more likely than any other; however, they all appeared to be equally horrifying. You wondered what would happen to you; to Ani. You wondered what morning would be like, when it arrived— what Anakin would do; who he would be. He might very well hate you more than ever, by then._ _

_ _This entire travesty had started as an assignment, morphed into a physical compulsion on your part, and had now become something wild and illogical for which you had no name, and no frame of reference. You did not know what was happening any better than you knew Ani himself; which was to say, not very well at all. You didn’t know, truly, why he was like this, or why you were supposed to push him toward the Dark Side; all you knew was that it was inevitable._ _

_ _You did also know what he did to you, and the way he made you feel. These were the thoughts you chose to pause and take in as you drifted to sleep curled around him: The man who seemed both to relish and loathe beating you, biting you, and— somehow— making utterly passionate love to you. The man who confused you and enraptured you in equal turns; who you did not know had been rejected or manipulated by everyone he’d ever trusted, and whose identity on waking you could only begin to guess._ _

_ _Finally tired enough for your mind to rest, you slept as soundly as your fresh head injuries would allow. Tied to your vexing and ruthless lover as tightly as you had been to your bed, you dreamed optimistically— and dementedly— about more of both his abuses and affections._ _


	5. Entropy

The room was dark, you were naked, and there was no one near you to hear you groan as you registered the deep, penetrating ache that coursed through your body. You were not bound; indeed, there was nothing in the room to which you could have been tied. It was clear, however, that even though you were physically unrestrained, you had absolutely nowhere to go.

A plain, tiled floor; plain walls, and a high ceiling surrounded you. Darkness obscured most of the space, but you could tell from the way your pained noises echoed about that it was too empty for lighting to matter very much. You wondered how you’d gotten here; how you’d ended up without clothes. You wondered why. 

It hadn’t even been a week since you’d woken in your own bed with a corrupt young Jedi atop you, after a particularly damaging beating coupled with incredible, intimate sex. You assumed your current circumstance had a lot to do with that, but really, you knew as little now as you had when you’d first been sent to engage Anakin. 

You’d always had the sense of being somewhat of a pawn in a game much bigger than you, and you’d always accepted your role— but you had never felt the weight of it quite so much as you did now.

So, you sat on the floor and drew your knees up in front of you. It was cold. You waited for Anakin, or the Senator, or a stranger— you didn’t really know who. You wondered what the intent was, of keeping you here this way; you wondered for how long you might be kept.

You waited and wondered for so long that you had the time to replay your last encounter with Anakin over in your mind from start to finish, and it was a pleasure— but it only made you wish more fervently that he would appear now. He didn’t, and you were nervous. 

You thought of what it had been like waking up with him; you’d been nervous then, too, but he hadn’t hated you the way you thought he might. That had been a relief, but his behaviour had still confused you, and you’d known even then that something was going to come of it. It had to.

He’d barely spoken a word to you that morning. He had woken; squeezed you tightly. Then, he had opened his eyes and something like sorrow filled them when they saw you. Whether this was because you were so bloodied and swollen, because you were not Padmé, or because you _could_ have been Padmé, you didn’t really know. Perhaps it was a combination of the three.

Either way, he had looked for a moment as if he were about to cry. He didn’t, though— instead, his eyes took on the quality of being somewhere very, very far away. He’d climbed off of you, barely looking at your face. You’d said his name, but he hadn’t answered.

You’d also taken pleasure in watching him dress: He truly was so beautiful, even if he did not recognize it. His ignorance of it made looking at him and touching him even more enjoyable for you, if that were possible. As you’d reflected before, it was so rare to find the exact combination of youthful elegance, handsome strength, and boyish brokenness which existed within Anakin Skywalker. You had been correct in your initial evaluation that he could only ever hurt you. The pain, however, was delicious; you simply couldn’t get enough.

It had stung that he’d left so silently, then— but he had gifted you something unexpected on his way. As he’d exited, he had neglected to take with him his cloak; the one you’d ‘borrowed’ to cover yourself after the time he had ripped your clothing to shreds. It hadn’t been merely an oversight— you’d seen him reach for it, but something had stopped him, so there the garment had remained.

You were grateful, because although it was embarrassing and you hated to admit it, you had slept clutching that stolen cloak tightly every night since seeing him last. It brought you strange joy, and perverted comfort.

As you had seen more of what was inside of Ani, you’d begun to understand him a bit better, or so you thought. In his rage and fear; in his brief flashes of deep compassion, and even in his binding tendrils of burning pain, you could see bits of yourself as well. 

Perhaps he saw himself in you, too. Perhaps this was why you couldn’t seem to stay away from each other. You would never really get to know, but you very strongly suspected it— and, of course, it made you sad for him. He hadn’t learned how to enjoy his pain, and it was killing him; maybe his wife, too. There wasn’t much you could have done to help— nothing at all, in fact. None of this was up to you, nor had it ever been.

As you had so many times before in your life, you sat in quiet acceptance, and waited. If you were here because of Ani, you were happy to pay for the pleasure you’d derived from him. If you were here for something else... well, then so be it. You had thoughts, at least, to occupy your mind while you waited to find out.

You didn’t know how long it had been; had lost count of how many times Anakin had fucked you in your mind, before you finally heard footsteps. You also heard rustling, and a smooth gliding sound; doors. A shaft of light appeared and disappeared before you as two dark figures entered the room; both were very familiar, and the sight of them together made your breath catch. 

Were you in trouble? Probably. You steeled yourself; remained quiet.

“Here she is, Anakin.” The Senator. You always knew his voice.

“Did you harm her?” Flat, with a hint of concern you might have only imagined.

“No.” The two were mere feet away from you by now; your eyes were used to the dark, and you could see both of them clearly. Palpatine turned to face Anakin and continued, “That is _your_ job.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“It is. To aid those you love, you will have to do things that are far more difficult than this. I need to know that I can trust you.” They were speaking as though you couldn’t hear them.

“But Senator, I—“

“You what, Anakin?”

“I—“

“She is a meddling whore. She’s always been here to be used.” You thought you saw the glint of his eye shifting to meet your own as he continued, “She likes it, Anakin. If you can’t do it, it will mean I was wrong about you.”

Silence from Ani before Senator Palpatine moved swiftly to leave. _He never really liked me,_ you thought irreverently, as the light from outside the room appeared and disappeared again.

You were alone here, now, with Anakin. 

He said nothing, so you began, “Ani?”

“Don’t talk.”

“What’s happening?”

He nearly groaned; covered his face with his hands and breathed in deeply. “You never, ever listen, do you?”

“Ani...” you started to stand, but he uncovered his face to point the fingers of his left hand in your direction, and you felt yourself stick fast to the floor. Starting to feel fed up, you insisted, “Ani, what’s going on?”

He paused; trembled. Then he near-shouted at you, “You _are_ in trouble!”

“What?” You looked up at him, confused. He appeared much the same way as he had when you’d last seen him; over-energized and wild, and it was beginning to take a palpable toll on him. His eyes hadn’t looked like they’d really belonged to him for a long time, now. 

With an uncharacteristic bitterness, you wondered briefly if Padmé had ever even noticed— you knew they’d resumed fucking, but did they speak? Did she talk to him, or just use his body for her own pleasure? (And how, exactly, had you come to think that you knew what you were talking about, or that you were any better?)

These thoughts went abandoned as Anakin kneeled down to your level; still didn’t let you move. More quietly; almost kindly, “_You’re in trouble._”

“What do you mean, Ani?”

He sighed; met your eyes with his. “This is the last time.” Another pause; longer, then he shifted uncomfortably. “You— I’m going to kill you. You’re going to die.”

Raw terror hit you quickly and violently; met you deep down inside your guts. “What— why?” Was this a joke? You didn’t have anything to say— you were too surprised, and now too scared. To your knowledge, Anakin did not tell jokes.

His jaw began to shake; he steeled himself; stopped his teeth from chattering. He put his hand on your face, and felt around it as though he’d never seen or touched it before. He was neither rough nor gentle, and you could hear the unsteadiness in his voice as he finally answered, “Because I—“ he nearly choked on the words; that beautiful, husky voice of his was breaking as he finished, “—I love you. I was supposed to destroy you, but it made me love you.” He let his hand fall from your face helplessly; looked at you with no discernible expression.

Finally, you were silent. Taken aback, you didn’t know what to say. The shock of Anakin’s revelation coursed through you, along with fear at his having told you that your life was nearly over. You began to tremble— you so rarely trembled.

Anakin stared at you; you stared back. He did not move to comfort you. He stayed kneeling; you didn’t know if you could move yet, but you didn’t try. After a very long moment, you answered, “I love you, too, Ani.” With a quivering breath, you added, “You’re easy to love.” That was true, although it was also nonsense. He shouldn’t have been lovable, and he knew it.

This was probably why he laughed at you— a loud chortle that echoed off the bare walls, utterly incompatible with the heavy darkness; the direness, of the situation. You understood, however, and it made you sad for a moment, instead of scared. Did Ani ever not feel pain? Had he ever had the chance to know himself? 

Useless questions, you decided. You didn’t know what else to say.

That rich, handsome voice wavered as it asked, “Do you want to play? Before I have to do it?”

_Play._ Perhaps he was a bit more self-aware than you were giving him credit for.

Of course you wanted to play.

You steadied your body, and your mind too. You put away thoughts of death, because they did not serve you. (Thoughts of death rarely served anyone, you mused offhandedly.) 

After a long silence you answered finally, “Hurt me, Ani,” as you smiled the same sweet smile you’d greeted him with when you had first invaded his space; his life. 

He smirked back; dragged you by the hand as he stood up with you. Once you were standing and facing him, he moved in very close. In his familiar way, he used a hastily-grasped handful of your hair to pull your head back. Then, with his other hand, he slapped you— also in his own, familiar way.

With your hair gathered in his hand, your neck was not allowed to twist or snap back, and you bore the full brunt of that brutal, bionic tool he used to smack you. Stars behind your eyes, broken scabs on your lips; then, blood— spilling out your mouth as if the wounds inside had never even begun to heal. 

When your vision focused, you looked up at him; at his face. Those gorgeous, crystal eyes— still not all his— were ‘his’ enough for you. You grinned despite yourself; despite everything, and displayed to Anakin those chipped, red-stained teeth of yours that he so loved to impose on you.

“Good boy, Ani,” as tears came to your eyes; he was pulling very hard.

_Slap._

“You’re _such a good boy_. Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re not,” as you licked at the blood around your mouth and the tears began to fall. 

_Smack._

“You’re beautiful, Anakin.” You loved being a wet and bloody mess for this sick, sad little boy; there was no denying it.

He dropped you to the floor now; you landed on your side, crying out as you hip-checked the cold, hard tile. In a desperate, nearly frenetic motion, he unclasped his belt and threw it— along with his weapon— to the floor. He then wrenched off his tunic; threw it down similarly, and you made a greedy noise at the sight of that strong, smooth, tense chest you loved so much.

“Whore.” He leaned down close to you to say it; it made your pussy clench and leak. He peeled off his gloves; both of them, and kneeled again to reach between your legs with warm, human digits. “Whore,” he repeated, and then he probed you with his fingers to gauge your response— it was more of the same, of course. Even on the brink of death, you couldn’t get enough of his abuse.

Of course he loved you— who else would ever have let him do this?

He came even closer; lips by your ear, he whispered, “Which one of those filthy little holes should I fuck first, this time?”

“You’re sweet to make this so special, Ani,” and you giggled. There was no reason not to enjoy yourself, now. You found his eyes with yours again and said, “Feed me; you make me hungry.”

He laughed as he stood tall again, and that made you feel proud of yourself. “On your knees, then.” The immediacy with which you sat up and obliged prompted him to add quietly, “Good girl.” He, apparently, saw no need to deny the pleasure he took in this now, either.

He began to remove one of his boots, but from down on your knees, you interrupted him, “Leave them on.”

“What?”

“Leave your boots on. I love you in just your boots.”

He laughed again; left his boot alone as you asked, and instead unfastened his pants. He kicked them off over hard soles; grasped his cock. It was rigid already, and as he pumped it with his hand, the head glinted with his cum. You could imagine the taste, but didn’t have to for long— he moved in very close to you; crotch level with your face, and you were allowed to savour the distinct sensation of each unique vein and ridge as it passed over your tongue and past your teeth. He wrenched at your hair again; pushed your head down as he thrust forward. 

He shoved himself as far down the back of your throat as your body would allow, just as you knew he loved, and you gagged violently. You’d almost certainly have vomited, but your stomach was empty. He wasted no time as he began to jam himself in repeatedly— over and over; relentlessly. You were in pain; you screamed, but muffled gurgles were all that could be heard from you as Ani savagely fucked your throat. You cried and spoke and yelled out through mouthfuls of throbbing cock; dared, even, to reach down and touch yourself as he worked.

This, he noticed— and he pulled out.

“Not yet,” he growled, and he pulled you up again to look at his face.

You were inches away from one another. Electric sparks of raw emotion flew wildly— fear, anger, lust, and somehow love filled the air around you with such thickness that you could almost touch it. You couldn’t, of course, so instead you reached out with your hand to feel the slick heat of that hard chest that you loved to watch tense and writhe. 

Suddenly, you found yourself fervently wishing that this had all happened just a bit differently. You’d loved your time with Ani; relished every second— and also every bruise, cut, and broken tooth. However, you also felt overwhelmingly that it had all been cut far, far too short. This, you acknowledged, was likely just greed masquerading as something with more depth— but, a part of you thought that perhaps you might have been able to do more for this poor boy, had you been given more time.

He was always going to go down this path; this road to darkness— but could you have made it easier for him, if you’d been better prepared? If you’d had more time to slowly tease his true nature out of him instead of prodding and jolting him as you had? Could you, maybe, have been a parachute of sorts for his descent— lowered him gently to the ground like a beautiful feather, instead of dropping him like a rock?

No, of course not. He was always going to sink like this, and you were always going to have made it worse for him. It was silly of you to think anything could ever have been _less_ painful for Anakin, because his pain informed his destiny. It was doing so as he held you, now, by the hair on your head.

He was always supposed to have been like this. Instead of lamenting pain that was not yours, you realized, it was infinitely more sensible to enjoy the portion to which you actually were entitled. You wouldn’t have time for regrets later, anyway— there wasn’t going to be a later for you.

So, instead of ruminating, you bared your bloody teeth to Ani again; smiled at him as he stared icily into your eyes. He was perfect, you decided, just the way he was. You moved your tongue around the inside of your mouth; gathered your blood and spit and, likely, a bit of your damaged Jedi himself. Then, happily, you spit it out onto him like a blaster shot; coated his cheek, nearly hit his eye. 

When he snarled and threw you to the floor, you became certain: He was, indeed, ideal. You studied him, now: Looked at his boots; let your eyes trail up the length of his legs. You lingered on his cock; hard, still dripping. Then, you gazed at his hips for a moment— those hips he’d sent crashing into you, violently and more than once. After that, his stomach; taut and rigid outside, nervous and knotted inside— followed by that delicious chest. Finally, you studied those brutal arms that had smacked, choked, and restrained you. (The metal one, especially, had always drawn your attention with both its uniqueness and brutality.)

You’d only been with Anakin Skywalker three times, you reflected. This was the fourth, and to hear him tell it, it would be the last. However, the bond you felt with him— twisted; backward— was strong. Through your mutual pain, you had forged something that you knew he had not and would not ever experience with anyone else; even his beautiful wife.

She was too good for him, but you weren’t. You were perfectly damaged; able, too, to perfectly damage him. You’d done it in just the way that had been required of you, and even now that it was costing you your life, you were still working tirelessly to fulfil his destiny. You’d known after your first meeting, and you knew it now— Ani _was_ your perfect kind of man, and you’d have taken him any way at all you could have had him. 

This— all of it— was just perfect.

These thoughts; thoughts of satisfaction and radical acceptance, filled your mind the same way Anakin filled every one of your senses. He bent over you as you lay on the floor; wiped your insult from his face. Then, he smirked again and said, “I’ll tell you when it’s time.” 

Time for him to make you writhe shamelessly with pleasure, or time for him to kill you? He didn’t betray even a hint of an answer as he lowered himself to the floor and placed a hand on your throat.

You would have to wait to find out.


	6. Fear

You squirmed; moaned— waves of pure satisfaction wracked you as you shuddered in response to the kind of touch that it was so easy to forget this stunningly tainted young Jedi Master could impart.

Between dripping mouthfuls of your cunt, Anakin whispered, “I’m going to miss the way you taste.” He had said it more to himself than you, really, but it still gave you pleasure to hear. You realized, then, how few words he had actually said to you since you’d met him— but Anakin didn’t really need words; not with you: You understood him, even when he didn’t speak.

You shouted out; pain made your throat throb, but you ignored it. Anakin had squeezed it tightly when he’d met you on the floor, toyed with the pressure he’d applied, and listened to your desperate noises. 

He’d felt your heartbeat with fascination; observed aloud that it was more like a bird’s than a human’s. You hadn’t known what to say to that. He’d bitten you on your neck, too, leaving an angry expanse that stretched from under your chin to the skin just above your breasts. You could feel it every time he made you scream; now, he was doing just that as he sucked and licked.

His tongue flitted in a near-manic way over your folds and your clit; thrust in and out of you as Ani tried to satisfy a seemingly insatiable appetite for you. He held you by the hip with one hand; the other— the one that wasn’t really made of him— grasped your ass, thumb thrust deeply inside the tightness at its centre.

You beat your hands against the floor and groaned as a deep, almost jarring climax finally; gracelessly, made you shudder. You were grateful to Anakin for not making you wait for it— although you considered that, perhaps, he’d thought it would be more difficult to get you there, now that he was to end you. _Silly, beautiful boy._

The longer you were here, you noticed, the more irreverent and strange your thinking was becoming. It was, likely, the anxiety of your impending death. Briefly, your mind wandered to how he might do it— his lightsaber? The heels of his boots? His bare hand— or his other one?

He interrupted your thoughts; slid up next to you, chin coated in your juices. “You were right,” he said, now face-to-face with you on the floor.

You looked at him quizzically. 

He continued, “I did need you. I’m sorry I made this so hard.”

You smiled, now. Laying naked beside Anakin on a cold floor was still laying naked beside him. “It had to be hard, Ani. If it had been easy, it wouldn’t have worked.”

He didn’t smile back. He stared at you, in a particular way that belonged only to him; that made you feel as though you were stuck under a microscope. He looked for a long time; then, apologetically, “I love you.” 

He’d already said that, but you didn’t point it out. “I love you too.”

He looked like he would cry. It had always hurt you when he cried, and not in the way that you liked. You’d always wanted to hold him when it happened, but you hadn’t been able to. So, in spite of your soreness, you moved now to put your arm around him. To your great surprise, he allowed it— even shifted closer; so close that your noses touched. 

Then, he waited for a long time. It felt good, just to look at him. He had the most enrapturing face you’d ever seen; it was beautifully marred by battle and grief, with endless, broken love and pain behind his eyes. They were _so damn blue._

“I don’t want to kill you,” he said finally, so quietly you barely heard him. Tears had gathered in those perfect eyes; they finally spilled over, now. He was on his side and facing you, so as they came off the tip of his nose, they pooled on your face, too, and mixed with your blood before dripping to the cold floor between you.

You still didn’t know what to say, so you kissed him. You didn’t know how, but in a large and penetrating burst, your love for him had overridden your concern for even your own life. You slid your hand up to the back of his head to pull his face as close to yours as you could; gripped his hair tightly. Beautiful, sweaty blonde gathered in your hand, you leaned into him.

He returned your kiss as he cried into you unreservedly, and his sobs wracked both of your bodies. Tongues dancing and teeth clicking, you moved your hand again— this time to touch Ani’s face as you continued to press your mouth sadly and desperately into his. You thumbed scars and divots; felt sharp bones, sharper than you remembered them ever being.

Finally, he raised his arm to grasp you and pull you in toward him. You broke the kiss and sucked gently on a wet earlobe with your bloody lips as you nuzzled into the side of his face.

“It’s okay, Ani.”

His jaw did tremble, now— he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried. He shook his head. He’d always thought you were foolish, you knew. You smiled as you pulled back to see his face again. Maybe you were foolish.

You took a chance, although there was not much novelty in the risk, for you; your fate had already been decided. You put your hand on his shoulder, then, and pushed. You were much weaker than him, but in his desolation, he allowed you to press him down flat onto his back.

“It’s okay,” you repeated. You moved gingerly to climb atop him, now. One leg on either side of his waist, you leaned in close and kissed him again, more softly than you’d ever kissed anyone in your life. His lips were like velvet against your own encrusted, scabbed mess of a mouth. You wanted to cry; indeed, your eyes became misty, but instead you cupped his face and just loved him— as you had always secretly wanted.

You sat taller atop him. He looked up at you with tears and sweat and your own blood mingling; drying on his face. He shook his head again and suppressed a sob. Then, he reached up with his own hand; caressed your breast, and ran his palm down your body and along your leg. He used his mechanical fingers, next, to trace gentle lines along your stomach and across your other thigh— you hadn’t realized their touch could be so kind. You wondered if he could, in any way, feel your skin through those cold, hard digits.

Reassuringly you told him, “You’ve been perfect.”

He nearly begged, “Please don’t say that.”

You sighed, now; repositioned yourself over his hips, and began to ease him into you. His length twitchedand throbbed in your hand as you guided it. You lowered yourself slowly until he was buried deeply inside, and then you leaned down with a quiet, hitching moan to kiss his chest. You used one of your hands to steady yourself on the floor, but the other went right back to his hair; God, you loved his hair. 

He lay very, very still beneath you for what seemed like a long time. Finally, however, you felt two powerful arms wrap around your back— for the first time since you’d woken here, you felt sheltered from the chill of the room. You looked up from his chest; up at him. He stared at the ceiling, looking as far away now as he had when you’d woken together in bed, that one and only time.

A sadness overcame you very suddenly and you murmured, “I’m sorry,” because the Anakin laying underneath you right now was no monster. As it had begun to do with increasing frequency, your mind conjured a different universe— a universe in which Ani was allowed to spare himself the pain of his own bitterness; allowed to cultivate an identity of his own, instead of having one foisted upon him.

It was a beautiful vision, and your sadness was an ache; an ache for Anakin, that he would never live it. You’d always known what he would have to do; what he would have to become— it had been made very clear to you, when you’d been given your job.

You were excited, then, at the simple and pleasurable prospect of being manhandled by a lithe, young, muscular blonde. You had never expected to come to see him as anything else, and the truth of him being so much more was painful. You didn’t understand why you had to die— loving each other, surely, ought to have been punishment enough for both of you.

It had never been up to you, though.

“I’m sorry, too,” he answered, in a much kinder voice than you were used to hearing from him. Then, you sat back up; placed your hands on his chest. You loved how they looked there. He thrust upward; once, twice; then over and over again. Soon you were moving together rhythmically— merging in a way that you never imagined you would or could with anybody. 

It seemed that just as when he’d shown himself unexpectedly in your quarters, Anakin today was full of surprises. 

The longer you remained atop him, the harder it was for you to fight your own passion. You slammed yourself down onto his length as hard and as fast as he had ever forced it into you, and you didn’t stop until he squeezed his eyes shut and scraped his steel fingertips roughly along the floor with an ear-shattering screech.

That sound was rivalled only by his own fervent yell, which you nearly matched in volume and intensity as he spilled himself into you and you fell forward onto his chest. You kissed his skin, and you breathed very hard as you felt the last of his essence spurt up into your cunt, and drip out around his cock.

You remained laying this way for an indeterminate amount of time; no matter how long it was, it was not long enough. It could never be long enough.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m so sorry.” He moved to rise; you slid off of him, but remained on the floor.

“Ani...”

“Talking will make it worse... please, _please_ don’t talk.”

You wanted to obey him, but you were not ready to die. You looked up at him; at his body. Tense, naked, and peppered with goosebumps, he looked much the way he had when you’d left him for the very first time: Tortured, and defeated.

“I’m scared,” you said.

On his feet, now, he paced over to where he’d tossed his belt. He unclipped his lightsaber from it, and with his back turned to you, he ignited it. You thought, seeing this, that he must really love you, indeed— his blade was the least cruel method he could have chosen for this purpose.

“Ani.”

He turned around. He held his weapon in front of him; it bathed his face in effervescent blue. “Quiet.”

As he began to step back in your direction, you repeated his name, “Anakin...”

“_Quiet._” That blue light began to shine on you, too, and you could feel its heat as he drew closer. You knew he didn’t want to do this; _you knew_. Was there a way to spare yourself, after all? Your mind raced; through it ran every possible ending to this scenario. 

They were all the same. You had absolutely no ideas.

So, as you stared up at a hopelessly cold face behind an impossibly hot blade, you simply began to remember. You thought of every time you’d been with him, and every single thing the two of you had ever done. It hadn’t been much, in the grand scheme of things— but to you, it had been your most intimate connection. 

You knew some part of Ani felt this too, or something like it. Otherwise, he would not have confessed to loving you. His love, however, seemed to have no bearing on his behaviour now as he steeled himself to carry out the Senator’s order. 

He really had to do this.

_He really had to do this._

Your whole life you thought you’d been brave, but now, you buried your head in your hands and wondered whether or not you would actually feel it as it came off.

You were sure he’d lifted his arms, now; you could feel and hear the frenetic energy of his blade. You tensed and squeezed your eyes shut and waited; part of you wondered, even, if it had already happened.

... ... ...

Silence; stillness forced your hands away from your face, and you trembled as you dared to look at him. You expected to see him with his arms high in the air; face screwed into a contortion of pain and rage.

Instead, he stood stone-faced, arm extended down toward you; offering. He was still holding his blade. You were confused.

You were so confused.

“Are you stupid?” In Anakin’s unique way.

“What?” You whispered as you shook.

“Are you stupid? Take it.”

“I...”

He kneeled down to you, one last time. His lightsaber flared between you. So quietly as to sound kind or loving, he said to you bravely, “Cut my arm off. Right above the durasteel. I’ll wait as long as I can to scream, and that is how long you’ll have to get through the vent in the corner. You see?” He pointed toward the small exit he was referencing. You hadn’t noticed it in the dark before, but yes, you saw it. “He’ll be angry,” he added, referring to the Senator, “But he’ll never think I let you do this.”

“Anakin...”

“I’m going to change my mind, and quickly. The pain is pure hell. Do it, and do it now.”

You were speechless.

More desperately, “I’m supposed to be _saving the ones I love._” His eyes looked lost, but they were his; all his.

He had to be right.

Perhaps the Senator had been mistaken.

But you did not want to hurt Anakin. Not like this.

You stood; grasped the hilt in both hands anyhow. It sent its vibration coursing through your arms. You breathed deeply. You didn’t want to look at him, but you did. He looked younger than he ever had to you, in this new version of his usual concoction of fear and pain.

Finally and suddenly he hissed, “_Cut my fucking arm off, you stupid whore._”

You smiled at that as your eyes filled again with tears, raised the sabre with shaking arms, and learned immediately how very little force the weapon of a Jedi Knight truly required to cut through weak, human flesh.

Anakin fell; so did his steel arm, which hit the floor with a sickening clatter.

You dropped the blade; dropped it far away from him.

You ran; ran naked, cold, bloody, and faster than you ever had or ever would across the tiled floor. You broke nails and bloodied your fingers ripping the cover off of the vent in the wall.

You looked back foolishly to see him— also naked, also soaked with blood and sweat, staring at you from the floor with pinpoint pupils set in tortured, icy blue. They urged you to go, and so you did. His mouth merely trembled.

This was the last way you saw him.

Then, you went, and went, and went. You had no time for anything else. You fled until you were away from that place; falling naked onto the street, eventually, and running, running, running until you fell somewhere else: Somewhere you hoped was dark enough for you to rest until you could get up yet again and run some more. 

That was only the first day.

For a long time after Anakin, your life would be running; you did so ceaselessly, and you were never sure if you had gone far enough. Every time you stopped, you thought of him, and wondered if he thought of you too.

Eventually, you stopped running for good, but by then Anakin was not Anakin anymore. You knew; everyone knew. His wife was dead, and he might as well have been in the state he was rumoured to have been left, after a series of ghastly events.

You began to hear tales of an angry and brutal Dark Lord; more machine than man, who tolerated nothing and loved no one. You’d known it would end for him like this, but the reality was cold and stark.

You also began to feel as if you had escaped your own destiny in a way that you should not have. In time, with every cruel act you heard of carried out by Darth Vader and his Master, your own guilt grew. 

It would do this for your entire life, ceasing only when you did.

Your sole blessing— your only mercy— would be the memories you were fortunate enough to carry: Memories of a time in your life when you were brutalized in a way you enjoyed, by a sick and beautiful young man who had only ever wanted to do the right thing.

For all your guilt, when you thought of Anakin you did not think of severed limbs or hissing masks. 

No— when you thought of Ani, you thought of the handsome, snarling blonde boy who had loved you as much as he loved to hurt you... and he had always hurt you _perfectly._

Even by letting you go, he had caused you immeasurable pain.

You would hurt for the whole rest of your life, but never again in quite that special way you loved more than anything... because that way would always belong solely to him:

Your perfectly damaged, and perpetually lost, Anakin Skywalker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 thank you for coming 💕


End file.
